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17
Captain Montgomery
Thesharpodorofunbathed men and sour ale fills my nose. I raise a hand to my face to stifle the smell.
“Brother,” Ari twines her arm through mine. Her entire demeanor shifts as the door closes. She looks more like she’s in the company of her favorite uncle than a band of potentially dangerous strangers. Gone is the biting thief from Turin, and in her place is— well, I’m not really sure. The girl next to me seems completely at ease, her focus honed on the room like a cat listening for the rustle of a mouse.
I turn my concentration away from her, sweeping my gaze through the space. A few small tables line the area, men surrounding each one. They are packed in as tightly as they will fit, like clothes stuffed into every crevice of a drawer, requiring great effort just to close the thing.
No light comes from the back of the tiny establishment. There’s a great chance the only entrance and exit lies within the door we just walked through, only a couple paces behind us. A row of swords are lined against the side wall, matching the same number of men crowded into the tiny room. Between Ari and myself we may be able to keep a few of them disarmed, but eventually our line would break and we would be in trouble.
We are outnumbered six to one.
“I apologize. My brother isn’t the social sort.” Ari takes a step forward, maintaining her grip on my arm. Her eyes are calm like a glossy sea on a windless day. “We are looking for a little help. Our horse slipped a shoe earlier this morning, and we are hoping to buy a replacement beast after seeing that your stables are overflowing. You’re welcome to our horse, of course— just half a morning’s ride southeast toward Turin. She’s tied up just off the road.”
Ari’s broad smile doesn’t seem to soften the stiff faces staring back at us. She pinches my side. “Smile,” she quietly says, somehow without moving her lips.
All I can do is glare at the thirst in their treacherous eyes. It takes every effort not to choke the life out of the man sitting closest to me, his eager grin directed toward Ari. We may hardly know each other, and I may have wanted to tie her to the nearest tree and leave her there ever since we left Turin, but she’s still under my protection.
Ari releases my arm and steps toward the closest table of men, her cooling absence from my side making my nerves jump in response. “What are you drinking, sir?” she asks, lifting the nearest cup to examine the contents. She doesn’t wait for an answer before throwing the cup back and gulping down whatever is inside. A few drops escape down her face before she finishes, and she wipes an arm underneath her chin to dry the gathered stream.
What did she just consume? The empty cup is slammed against the table before she offers another wide smile to the room.
“Jaren— why don’t you grab another chair,” a man says, the corners of his mouth ticking up as he stares at his now empty cup.
The man’s tawny hair is combed back. Its thick, clumpy sheen highlights little flecks of white that dot through his scalp while its length flows over his shoulders and curls lightly at the ends. His eyes look like the color of murky water reflecting gray clouds. A dark tunic wraps around him, lining his hefty arms and torso before disappearing underneath the table he has squeezed into.
“Any woman that can drink like that deserves a seat at my table.” The man’s face is alight with pleasure, yellowing teeth escaping through his lips while he waves a hand toward one of the men in the back. The one I assume is Jaren stands, dragging his own chair across the floor before fitting it next to the man who previously spoke.
As Jaren steps away from us, a flicker of familiarity trickles through me. Have I seen him before? I can’t quite place him, but recognition pulses through me. I watch him retreat to his spot in the back of the room, irritation tugging at me as he shimmies between the tight space of men.
“Perhaps your brother would prefer to wait outside,” the tawny-haired man says to Ari, his attention never wavering from her form.
“Corin may be a bit of a killjoy, but he’s harmless. Come, Corin. Come sit by your sister.” There’s humor in her gaze as she waves me over. She winks at me before turning back in her seat to face the man. “I’m Calla, by the way. And you are?” she asks him. I scoff quietly to myself as I move by her side, closing the distance in only a couple steps.
Another man gives up his chair so I can sit. The chair won’t quite fit around the table, so I’m forced to sit a pace behind her, sticking out like a wing among pigs.
“I’m Silas of Fort Kotar.” The tawny-haired man, Silas, reaches out a dirty hand which she gladly accepts. My frown deepens as his hand lingers around hers longer than it should, but she appears completely unaware. I may not know Ari well, but I know her well enough to grasp that she is, in fact, well aware of his advances.
She wasn’t lying when she told me she’d been dealing with men like this most of her life. It would seem practice makes perfect. Her act is so tight I can’t tell where Ari ends, and Calla begins.
“Well, Silas of Fort Kotar. You’re a far way from home,” she says, her sweet tone pulling him in closer. At least one of us seems to be enjoying ourselves.
“As are you, Calla of… Turin?”
“Aye. Turin.” Ari, or maybe Calla is more appropriate here, takes on a bit of Aiden’s accent. “Our father went to care for an ailing uncle up in a small town just off Fort Lowsan. Seems he got whatever illness his brother was battling, and he himself is now fairing poorly. We are hoping to bring him back so he can heal within in his own home.”
Her story is flawless— a perfectly fabricated narrative. I close my jaw before anyone can see my shock, which would most certainly unravel the thread of her deception. How many times must she have done this to become so good at it?
“What is a man of Fort Kotar doing in charge of a small mail outpost between Turin and Fort Lowsan?” she asks. Her countenance is so enchanting, I half expect her to be invited to sit on his lap. I grind my teeth as the revolting image crosses through my mind. In fact, I’m so distracted by the pair, I forget for a moment that we are here for Lena.
“We are just passing through. The one who runs this station was kind enough to let our horses rest while we take a small respite from our travels.” Silas grins.
Disgust fills me as I think of the real fellow in command of this outpost and where he truly is in this moment. Perhaps they let him go. Or more likely, he’s rotting away in a shallow grave out back.
My fists lay clenched in my lap, each muscle ticking the more I have to sit here listening to this man. I try to relax, instead observing the room and leaning back into everything Otto taught me. Watch. Listen. Wait for a change in the air, for the hair on my arms to stand on end, for the unmistakable aroma of trouble. But no matter how hard I try, my focus always returns to Ari.
She converses with Silas so effortlessly, and I can’t yet tell if it’s part of her act or if she truly enjoys it. I don’t know whether to be impressed or nauseated. Something unfamiliar gnaws at me as I see them interact.
